Someone Else's Son (26 page)

In the taxi, Carrie thought back over her childhood days as if they’d happened to a different person. That child couldn’t be her, could it? The one peeking between the banisters, the one who scuttled in from the garden at the sound of clicking boots, the one that hardly spoke? She thought back as the streets flashed past.

No one could accuse Major Kent of being cruel to his only child. His wife and daughter were both kept warm and fed; they were clothed and, when he was on leave, they took holidays in Dorset and Wales. One day, he promised them, they would go to France. On the hovercraft, or the ferry, he said. They didn’t make it across the Channel, but Caroline Kent never forgot that promise – one of the better ones. She added it to her list, scribbled in a tatty notebook, and scored it out of ten.

‘Eight,’ she reckoned, chewing the end of her pencil. She totted up the numbers written beside the other promises. They totalled seventy-two. Sixty-nine the second time she added up.

She’d wanted a pet rabbit. Carrie recalled the day she’d finally mustered the courage to ask.

‘Wait until he has food in his belly,’ was her mother’s advice. ‘And his weekend sherry.’

Little Caroline nodded. Other kids at the base had pets. Simon had two rats. Kelly a horrid spider thing. She reckoned a rabbit wouldn’t be any trouble.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. He didn’t look up from the newspaper.

She wondered if she should have waited until he’d changed out of his uniform, hoping he’d transform into a milder, gentler father once he peeled off the stiff layers of green and brown. ‘Can I have one then? A rabbit?’

Charles Kent was immersed in the day’s news, his brow closing together with each turn of the page. The air was scented with the heavy tang of newsprint. Carrie read the headline of the front page.
Bomb Blast Rocks Northern Ireland
.

‘Will they come to the base?’

Her father flattened the newspaper against his stomach and asked, ‘Who?’ He wasn’t unpleasant or impatient, but his voice was cold, as if it was already decided that she was a nuisance.

‘Those bombers.’

‘No.’ He pushed his reading glasses back up his nose and re-furrowed his brow. One finger tapped lightly against the edge of the newspaper as he read. Caroline watched it, wondering if he was thinking about the rabbit.

‘I’d look after it all by myself.’ She was standing beside him now, tall and upright and with her ankles pressed together and her palms against her thighs. All the best soldiers stood like that. She knew her dad was important in the army.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Have a rabbit.’ This time he didn’t lower the newspaper or look at his daughter.

‘Really?’ She wondered if she ought to add ‘sir’ when speaking to him. She wanted to hug him but didn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

‘I said so.’

Caroline ran off to tell her mother. Her arms were elbow-deep in soapy water. ‘Dad says I can have a rabbit. He did!’

No one mentioned the rabbit for a few days, not even Caroline for fear of pushing her father one step too far.

‘When I’m a grown-up,’ she said later through her toothbrush and foamy paste, staring into the mirror, ‘I’m going to do whatever I want.’ She swilled and spat. ‘Have a hundred rabbits.’

Next day at dinner, Major Charles Kent surprised his daughter. Caroline held her knife and fork, ready to tuck in to the stew her mother had prepared. Her father said grace as always and then stared straight at her.

‘You wanted rabbit,’ he said with more warmth than Caroline had ever seen on his usually tight face.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied, her mouth now bursting with food. Was it outside, she wondered, sitting in a cage, waiting to be cuddled?

‘Bon appétit,’ Charles Kent replied and he didn’t say anything else for the entire meal.

They pushed Lorrell on a swing. As Max shoved the plastic seat, fearful the little girl might fly off, Dayna stood in front of her kid sister and made faces every time she drew close. Lorrell hooted with excitement.

‘Tummy funny,’ she squealed.

‘Hold on, Lorrell,’ Max called out. He’d not had much to do with little kids before. He remembered some cousins from way back, when his parents were still together. His dad’s sister’s kids, he thought. He hadn’t seen them for years, not since they’d visited from Jamaica. His lasting memory was his mother rushing around after them wiping up the sticky fingerprints they left around her immaculate house, or insisting their parents control them more. No wonder they hadn’t come again, he thought.

‘Do you ever see your dad’s family? You know, since your folks got divorced.’

Dayna shook her head. ‘Nah. Weeeee!’ She clapped her hands against Lorrell’s.

‘Me neither.’ Max missed a couple of pushes. Lorrell, he thought, was going high enough. When he had his own kids, he wanted things to be different.

He stared at Dayna. Her pale cheeks were crested with a pretty shade of pink – far too delicate for someone who wore biker boots and a leather jacket. He wondered who would be the mother of his kids and how old he’d be when he had them. He wanted a job, a house, all that stuff first. Maybe thirty, he thought, and he hoped that he still knew Dayna then. ‘You’re a good mother to her,’ he called out.

Dayna winked back. ‘No one else is.’ She pulled on the chains to stop the swing and lifted Lorrell off. Lorrell immediately ran over to the red and green roundabout. The wooden boards were sprayed with graffiti and the rails rusty and chipped.

‘Get on,’ Max told them. He grabbed a rail and began to run. ‘Hold tight!’ He got dizzy himself and, as soon as they were whizzing round at speed, Max leapt on next to Dayna. Lorrell clung on to a bar in the centre. Her face was frozen – her mouth wide open and her eyes bursting with so much fun. Her wispy hair trailed behind.

Max wobbled and grabbed on to Dayna. ‘Craaazy,’ he called out, grinning. Their faces were close and he could focus on her even though they were spinning wildly. The world whizzed around them while they, at the eye of a terrifying storm, held their breath in the calm.

‘It’s all like spilt paint,’ Dayna said, waving her arms about. ‘But you’re still perfect.’

Max could hardly believe it.

Perfect
, she’d said.

Was she thinking the very same thing as him –
feeling
it? Emotions transferred across the electric air between them. With his mind pressed against the side of his skull, Max seized the moment. He cupped Dayna’s face and pushed his mouth against hers. Her lips were salty from the chips they’d eaten; full and soft from all the things they would say to him. Her eyes were wide and still, he noticed, as the world flew out of control behind them.

She responded. Her lips parted. She put a hand on the back of his head.

Nothing was real.

They were spinning. Together. Untouchable.

Everything was perfect.

‘Yuk!’ Lorrell cried. ‘That’s yukky.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Max said, his mouth still stuck against Dayna’s.

That’s OK, she vibrated into him. He felt the coy smile form against his chin. He hoped he didn’t feel prickly. It was the first time he’d ever kissed a girl. He prayed he’d done it right. He felt the tip of Dayna’s tongue nudge his teeth. He allowed her in. He felt something bashing his legs.

It was all over. The world was back and they were laughing, looking down at Lorrell who’d jumped off the slowing roundabout. She was beating them both with a twig.

‘Ice cream,’ she said, pouting.

Dayna hauled her back up on to the roundabout. She hugged her and turned back to Max.

‘No one’s ever done that to me before,’ she confessed. ‘It was nice.’

‘Yukky.’

Max smiled. Inside him everything was mixed up. He had no idea how he would ever sift through these new feelings. He had kissed Dayna. She had kissed him back. This was a huge deal. He needed to go away, to be alone, to lie on his bed and think what it all meant; to decide if it had really happened.

But then, he never wanted to leave her side.

Did he look different? he wondered. He touched his face as Dayna drew away with Lorrell, who was now whining about ice cream. His chin was wet.

‘Better get her one,’ Dayna said. ‘Don’t forget your bag.’ She led Lorrell across the grass towards the shops. It suddenly felt a lot like nothing had happened.

‘Wait,’ Max called out. He ran back to the swings and hooked his bag over his shoulder. He suddenly remembered the knife tucked inside it and wondered how just a couple of hours could be filled with such extremes. Dayna was halfway to the shop when he caught up. She stared straight ahead, chastising Lorrell for whingeing so much.

Max pulled a face and touched Dayna’s arm. He thought she jerked away but couldn’t be sure. ‘What’s up?’

Dayna glanced round at him, her eyes dark and stormy. ‘Got any money?’ she said in the voice she used at school – her tough voice, the one that both threatened and defended. The one that said she didn’t give a shit about anything.

Max dug into his pocket. ‘Sure. But why are you—’

‘Thanks.’ Dayna took the coins. She led Lorrell into the corner shop and waited while she chose a lolly. Max stood behind them, staring at the way Dayna’s hair brushed the edge of her face.

‘Hurry up, Lorrell,’ she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

‘Dayna . . .’ Max pulled up close. There was a group of kids from the year above them trying to buy some cider. They didn’t have ID. He ignored the brewing grumbles as the shopkeeper refused to serve them. ‘Dayna, I’m sorry. OK? I didn’t mean to—’

‘Just fucking shut up, Max.’ Dayna grabbed the lolly from Lorrell’s hand as soon as she’d pulled one from the misty depths of the freezer. She slid the door closed and marched up to the checkout where the boys were still arguing about buying booze.

The shop man caught Dayna’s eye and reached out for her item. He scanned it.

‘One forty-nine, love,’ he said over the heads of the bickering boys. Dayna reached round them and handed over two pound coins. Lorrell was jumping up and down at her side, desperate to get her hands on the ice lolly.

‘Why, Dayna? What’s the matter with you?’

‘She’s a fucking miserable bitch, that’s what’s wrong wiv her . . .’ The boy trailed off into fits of laughter.

Max’s fists clenched round the strap of his bag. He stared at the youths. He knew them from school. They were trouble. Always drinking, starting fights. He reckoned one or two had been banged up before. He felt the worn leather of his bag, reminding himself of what was inside. But he couldn’t, not in here. He glanced up behind the till. There was a security camera pointing right down at them.

The boys finally skulked out of the shop when they realised they weren’t going to get served. One of them punched Max in the back as he went past. Lorrell peeled the paper off her lolly and dropped it on the ground outside the shop. ‘No, Lorrell,’ Max said. ‘Go and put it in the bin.’ She did as she was told, running the creamy pink lolly between her lips. Max took hold of Dayna’s shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘We kissed,’ he said flatly. ‘And now you’re unhappy. I’m sorry.’

Dayna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s nothing you’ve done.’

‘Then what?’

Lorrell scooted up to her big sister, pushing the fingers of her free hand into Dayna’s.

‘It was like . . . like . . .’ She stared up at the sky and sniffed. ‘I felt something so hot in my heart I could hardly stand it,’ she continued. ‘But it made me angry too.’

‘And?’ Max hardly dared breathe.

‘And,’ she let out a huge sigh, ‘it made me realise that we’re unloved, people like you and me.’

‘People like us?’

Dayna squinted up at Max. ‘My entire life I’ve had to deal with crap. I’m numb to it all now. Except . . .’

Max wondered why she’d included him in her summation. He had to admit, he liked being
us
. He understood exactly what she meant about being numb. ‘Except?’

‘Except now I’m not quite so numb. My heart is tingling.’ And with that, Dayna reddened, tugged Lorrell, and the pair ran off down the street.

Max watched them go, stunned. He touched his lips. He put his hand inside his jacket, cupping his heart. He felt it too.

 

The hut had been leaking. Several boxes were wilting and soggy. Max stripped off the cardboard and examined the contents. He removed the plates one by one and set them on top of the dry boxes. They were a bit ugly, he thought, like an old lady would use. A sort of mottled cream colour with grapes and apples painted around the edge. He picked one up and threw it across the hut. ‘Twelve-piece dinner service now fucking eleven,’ he said, reaching for a bowl. He smashed that too, shards of ugly porcelain raining around the small hut.

Soon the whole set was broken. Max kicked the box outside the door. The rain had started again. He slumped down on the car seat and lit a fag. He felt better, more normal. ‘Numb again,’ he said. ‘People like
us
.’

He closed his eyes and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. All he could see was Dayna’s face as they stood on the roundabout, the world licking past behind her lovely face.

Baffled by the new feelings, by the way Dayna was working it out, Max ran his hands over the other boxes in the corner. He would have to move the tarpaulin. Stuff was getting ruined. He lifted up a Morphy Richards steam iron. He’d asked around, but no one wanted it. There was a juicer and a craft set. He moved them out of the way, peeling the soggy cardboard off both. The craft set he placed on the car seat. He could give it to Lorrell. It would be an excuse to visit Dayna, to see where things stood.

 

Max punched his code into the security pad. Once through, he turned the key in the Georgian front door. It had been recently painted and still smelt oily and new, somehow less familiar every time he came back. The big brass handle and knocker shone, thanks to Martha’s cleaning skills and, as he pushed it open, he got a whiff of the fresh lilies that his mother insisted were placed on the hall table, fresh every three days.